The Bayeux tapestry is set to return to the UK for the first time in almost 1,000 years. One of the most important cultural artefacts in the world, it is to be displayed at the British Museum from September 2026.
Its significance for history is unquestioned – but you may not think of the Bayeux tapestry as a work of art. Sure, you may recognise it from your history lessons or political campaigns. Maybe you like embroidery and textiles or know about it because of the modern versions it inspired – think the Game of Thrones tapestry or the Great Tapestry of Scotland. Perhaps you are an early medievalist and use it as comparative evidence.
For me, this now famous wall hanging is undoubtedly art, created with great skill. What fascinates me as a textile archaeologist is how early medieval people saw and understood the tapestry.
First, let’s contextualise it a little. The hanging is not a woven tapestry but an embroidery, stitched in wool threads on nine panels of linen fabric that were then sewn together. It was made in around 1070, probably in England. Nobody knows how big it originally was, but it now measures 68.3 metres long by approximately 70cm high.
Starting at the end of Edward the Confessor’s reign (1042-1066), the tapestry’s comic book narrative tells a vivid, very modern story of the struggle for power and the English throne – and the brutal means William of Normandy (1028-1087) used to get it.
This article is part of Rethinking the Classics. The stories in this series offer insightful new ways to think about and interpret classic books and artworks. This is the canon – with a twist.
It follows the highs and lows of Harold Godwinson, Edward the Confessor’s brother-in-law, who became king after Edward’s death in 1066, and his eventual downfall at the Battle of Hastings.
The end of the hanging, and therefore the story, is now missing but it was probably the triumphal coronation of William. It would have provided a mirror in symmetry to the first scene, which depicts an enthroned Edward.
Sensory archaeology of the tapestry
Today, the hanging is famous because it is the only surviving example of its kind. But documentary sources from early medieval England demonstrate that this type of wall hanging was a popular way for families to depict their stories and great deeds.
A good example is the Byrhtnoth wall hanging, which Æthelflæd, the wife of an Anglo-Saxon Ealdorman of Essex Byrhtnoth, gave to the church in Ely after he was killed in 991. We know that the Normans also understood these storytelling wall hangings because Abbot Baudri of Bourgueil (c. 1050-1130) expertly incorporated such a device in a poem he wrote to honour Adela of Blois (c. 1067-1137), the daughter of William the Conqueror and Matilda (c. 1031-1083).
The Bayeux tapestry was, therefore, an obvious way to tell people about the downfall of the English and the rise of the Normans. But this is not all. The early medieval population of Britain loved riddles, multilayered meanings and hidden messages. Evidence survives in pieces like the gold buckle from the 7th-century Sutton Hoo ship burial, the early 8th-century Franks Casket and the 10th-century Book of Exeter. So it is not surprising that people today have argued for hidden messages in the Bayeux tapestry.
While these concepts are interesting, so much emphasis has been placed on them and the role the embroiderers played in creating them, that other ways of early medieval viewing and understanding have been ignored.
Early medieval society viewed its world through the senses. By using sensory archaeology, a theoretical approach that helps researchers understand how past societies interacted with their worlds through sight, touch, taste, smell and sound, we can imagine how people encountering the Bayeux tapestry would have connected with and understood it.
Art historian Linda Neagley has argued that pre-Renaissance people interacted with art visually, kinaesthetically (sensory perception through bodily movement) and physically. The Bayeux tapestry would have been hung at eye level to enable this. So if we take expert in Anglo-Saxon culture Gale Owen-Crocker’s idea that the tapestry was originally hung in a square with certain scenes facing each other, people would have stood in the centre. That would make it an 11th-century immersive space with scenes corresponding and echoing each other, drawing the viewer’s attention, playing on their senses and understanding of the story they thought they knew.
If we imagine ourselves entering that space, we move from a cooler, stone-hewn room into a warmer, softer area, encased in linen and wool, their smell tickling our noses. Outside sounds would be deadened, the movement of people softened, voices quietened. People would move from one scene to another, through the open doors of the stage-like buildings where the action inside can be seen and watched, boldly or surreptitiously. The view might be partially blocked by others and their reactions and gesticulations as they engaged with and discussed what they saw.
The bright colours of the embroidery would have made a kaleidoscope of colour, a blur that defined itself the closer people got to the work. The boldness and three-dimensionality of the stitching helped to draw them into the action while any movement of the hanging brought the imagery alive.
Here are the main characters in the room with you, telling you their story, inviting you to join them on their journeys of victory or doom.
As onlookers discussed what they saw, or read the inscriptions, they interacted with the embroidered players, giving them voice and enabling them to join the conversation. If the hanging formed part of a banquet then the smell of food, clanking of dishes and movement of the fabric and stitchwork as servants passed would have enhanced the experience. The feasting scenes dotted throughout the hanging would be echoed in the hall.
I believe the Bayeux tapestry was not simply an inanimate art object to be viewed and read from the outside. It was an immersive retelling of the end of an era and the start of something new. When you entered its space you became part of that story, sensorially reliving it, keeping it alive. To me, this is the true power of this now famous embroidery.
Beyond the canon
As part of the Rethinking the Classics series, we’re asking our experts to recommend a book or artwork that tackles similar themes to the canonical work in question, but isn’t (yet) considered a classic itself. Here is Alexandra Makin’s suggestion:
The ITV series Unforgotten, now in its sixth season (with a seventh on the way) gripped me from the start. It follows a team of British police detectives as they track down the killers of people whose bodies have been recently found, but who were murdered years before.
As they do, we, the viewer, are given access to the characters’ often emotional stories. We are brought into their sphere and experience their pain, distress, happiness, horror. We get unrivalled access, eventually, to the motives for their seemingly strange actions. As with the Bayeux tapestry, we are swallowed up in their worlds. This is achieved by Chris Lang’s fabulous writing, the cinematography and the exquisite acting.
Together these elements make a whole, opening a window, immersing you in a world full of powerful sensory engagements. For me, this is classic art in the making.
Alexandra Makin undertakes unpaid consultancy work for the Bayeux Tapestry Museum.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
